


fit you better

by x (ordinary)



Series: Persona 4 Ficlets [2]
Category: Persona 4
Genre: Dubious Consent, Ficlet, Gunplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With eyes rolled back into your head, you teeter on the precipice of your want. It’d be so easy to fall into it, vast and all consuming. But even fuzzy from pain and the violence of it, you know better than to trust him. He’s just like you, and that’s how you got to this point to start with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fit you better

**Author's Note:**

> written while hozier's take me to church & bastille's requiem for blue jeans played.

He holds you down as he fucks you, your arm twisted tight behind your back. It’s pulled too-taut, the bend of it threatening to break if he pushes just a  _little harder._  Another thrust in and white hot prickles down your spine, sending you into a blind, spitting fury. It hurts and you  _hate_ it, it hurts and you’ve never been so fucking hard. 

(You don’t tell him to stop, even though you should. You’re sick. The both of you are. You’ve known that about yourself all your fucking life, but  _he’s_ the surprise.)

With eyes rolled back into your head, you teeter on the precipice of your want. It’d be so easy to fall into it, vast and all consuming. But even fuzzy from pain and the violence of it, you know better than to trust him. He’s just like you, and that’s how you got to this point to start.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream into the down of it, anguished because he won’t let you come no matter what you beg, and the begging’s been done for an hour now. The fury burbles in you as Yu takes no care when slamming his hips against the bruises on your ass. 

Hazily, you flick your eyes across the room. The gun is safely out of reach. You wish it wasn’t. His gaze follows yours and he laughs, unpleasant like running nails down a chalkboard, mocking. He’d never be this way in front of anyone but you.

You swear at him, again, epithets spilling from your lips more eager than the moans, and he smiles with too many teeth and dead eyes, leaving your arm alone to instead fist a hand into your hair, knotting it between his fingers.

“You don’t want that old thing, do you?” he breathes, voice gentler than the rest of him. It’s the voice he uses in front of Dojima and Nanako, calm and placid as the river. “We both know you’re too cowardly to use it properly. Remember what happened last time?”

You do. Barrel to his cheek, finger on the trigger, safety off. Every intention of misgivings, every intention of doing bodily harm. Your hand doesn’t shake, not until he turns his head and blows the barrel, tongue running along the metal, tasting the acridness of it. His eyes defiant.

Things are different now. 

“ _Answer me_ , Adachi-san.” Your name is a prayer on his lips, blasphemous. He pulls tighter and bites at the junction of shoulder and neck, hard enough to draw blood beneath what skin your collar would show.  The pain fills every sense and synapse, and he digs in deep like you’re his next meal. Like he’s hungry in the way you know he is.

“Of course I remember,  _brat_.” The words are acid on your tongue. Yu laughs and hits you backhanded, careless and brutal, hard enough to knock you off the bed. He likes you in pain and the worst is that it makes you feel  _something at all_ , and you’ve started to crave it, a poison in your veins that needs refilling. He’s the drug and the needle and the dealer in one go, eager to pluck at your vein.

The knife is out again, and you’re back to hours one and two and three. Time becomes a circle in this empty house. He lands hard on you, thighs straddling your back, and the blade of it runs along your neck– breath quickening, heart pulsing. His erection digs into your spine as he draws the steel down your back, carving in, fingers in your mouth to bite down on. To muffle your screams. There was blood on the sheets and now it’s on the floor too, sticky sanguine evidence that you’re  _alive_.

Yu runs it over old scars, eager to reopen the skin there, carving in the  **XI**  just below the left shoulder blade, a brand not of possession but your design. You can tell he’s close, from the way he grinds against you, ducking his head to lick at the red lines, almost-tender. 


End file.
